


I You He

by factorielle



Series: I You He [1]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/factorielle/pseuds/factorielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Hamada/Izumi/Mizutani threesome! Izumi likes it rough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I You He

"So." Izumi clicks his tongue irritably. He's still standing in the doorway, where he stopped when they first came in. That's not significant in itself, but he's blocking the only exit and Mizutani feels himself retreating a little into the wall. "I take it that when I told you that taking psychology classes for three months didn't qualify you to suggest therapeutic activities to complete strangers, what you heard was 'please analyze me instead'?"

"It's not like that," Mizutani tries not to sound too frustrated with the way Izumi is deliberately not getting the point. This is a delicate curve to handle, Hasekura-sensei explained. Denial is a strong force.

Izumi thrusts his hands in his pockets and leans to the side, his eyes never leaving Mizutani's. "Okay. Take it from the beginning. And try to have it make some kind of sense this time."

Mizutani takes a deep breath. This should be easy enough, he's been thinking it through for a good long while now. All he needs is to put it in order. "The two of you had a thing back in middle school," he starts with, cautiously, because it's been five years but Izumi still gets prickly about this.

"Bzzzzt. First mistake."

"Hey, we did!" Hamada protests. He's been pretending to read manga for the past five minutes, and judging by the glare Izumi throws at him, he might have been better off keeping it that way.

"Correction: _I_ had a stupid crush and _you_ strung me along for five months before promising you'd call after graduation. We've been over this. Also, shut up."

Hamada gulps and breaks eye contact, which returns Izumi's attention to the other side of the room. It's a little unnerving, how he's standing there glaring at them like they're misbehaving children.

"I can see you've made an effort to put it behind you." It's not easy. He usually doesn't need to watch his every word around Izumi, and it's dangerously tempting to point out how childishly his friend still behaves around Hamada. "You're able to have a somewhat civil conversation about it, but it's obvious you're still hung up on it."

Izumi's left hand rises to the back of his head and comes back down with a hair tie twisted around three fingers, the freed strands falling to frame his face in shadows. Hasekura-sensei would have a lot to say about nervous mannerisms, but Mizutani has known him for four years, shared a dorm with him for one, witnessed the inception of this particular habit as Izumi's hair grew longer practically overnight after graduation, and all he has to think about this is _oh shit, now I've done it_.

"Obvious how?" Izumi demands, making the hair tie twist and dance between his fingers.

Hamada leans forward on his stool, obviously interested in knowing more as well. Maybe Mizutani should have explained this earlier, but then Izumi probably wouldn't have come all the way here.

"In a year, you haven't had a relationship that lasted past breakfast, and it's not for lack of trying. _Other people_ trying. That's fear of intimacy. But on the other hand, you're always in a better mood whenever you come back from seeing him, and..." he tapers off, unsure if it's a good idea to mention this in the present company.

"And _what_?"

Mizutani responds to the tone, rather than the words. "I heard you last week, when you were with..." A vague hand gesture. Izumi's flings are nameless, faceless, gone before dawn. Mizutani never knows a thing about them, except that none of them come in twice. "You called his name."

There's a moment of deafening silence, and then Hamada starts laughing, a little hysterically if Mizutani's any judge. It sounds highly inappropriate.

Izumi lets out a deep I'm-surrounded-by-idiots sigh, rolling his eyes. "Can you shut up for a minute? I'm trying to see how far the crazy goes here." He turns back to Mizutani, eyebrows raised all the way to his hairline. "I'm sorry, you eavesdrop on me having sex and you think _I_ have issues?"

"I'm not listening or anything!" Mizutani protests, stung. "The walls are thin, you know. It's not my fault you always pick the noisy ones." And while he's on the matter of roommate grievances: "Also, you always forget to take out the trash and you keep stealing my shampoo."

By the time he's done with the sentence, Hamada is silent but still grinning, and Izumi is rubbing at his forehead with the hand not busy making the elastic snap repeatedly.

"So if I'm getting this right, you're saying I'm scared of getting involved with anyone because of what didn't happen between me and Hamada back in middle school. And I should fix that by sleeping with him?"

It does sound a little crass, put like that. "It's the one thing you're missing. The best way to get closure is to fill the void created by--"

"Fill the void, right," Izumi snorts, then turns to Hamada, who's having trouble keeping a lid on his hilarity. "And you agreed to this."

Hamada looks up at him, amusement shining in his eyes. "I want to help you, too. It's not healthy. You should be over me by now."

A sharp snapping noise punctuates that answer, accompanied by the broken hair tie flying all the way across the room. Mizutani holds his breath, now seriously considering the window as an exit point. It's only the fourth floor, after all. He might survive the fall.

"I will kill you in your sleep." The way Izumi says it, it's not even a threat, merely a description of what the future holds.

"You'll have to wear me out first," Hamada retorts with what is possibly the widest grin Mizutani's ever seen on him. Which is possibly not the best way to handle this situation, but he's survived three years in Izumi's class so maybe he knows what he's doing.

It seems he does, because Izumi doesn't, in fact, blow up. He stares, hard, long enough that Mizutani catches himself wiping his hands on his pants. Then, like a small miracle, Izumi's expression smooths over, his arms unfold from across his chest.

"You know what, fine," he says, pushing himself away from the wall. "I'll do it."

"Really?" Hamada asks, just as Mizutani says "You will?" with equal surprise. To have Izumi concede a point so easily to anybody but Momokan is kind of unprecedented.

"Sure. A chance to face my issues and make every high school fantasy come true so I can move on? Count me in." He shrugs, which makes Mizutani frown.

"You're not taking it seriously. There's no point if you don't take it seriously."

Izumi tilts his head, stares at him as though he's the next game's pitcher. After ten seconds, a switch flips.

In all honesty, Mizutani's wondered about the discrepancy.

There's this guy he played baseball with for three years, who's cursed and laughed with him and dropped a dog on his head, never seems to remember that dirty laundry goes in the dirty laundry _bag_ instead of on the floor, and watches anime after his evening shower, scratching himself through his boxers with one hand and eating chips from the bag with the other.

And there's this _other_ guy, whom Mizutani could swear a good third of the gay population on campus has come calling for at their door over the past year, hoping for seconds. (Them and the ostensibly straight vice-captain of the judo team, who very clearly explained that he could remove Mizutani's head from his body with his bare hands if he ever dared to think about telling anyone about it.) The one who leaves late some evenings and comes home in the middle of the night, rarely alone.

So far, Mizutani has been unable to connect these two people, to the point of assuring the gentlemen callers that they had the wrong door the first couple of times.

But now, with his hip cocked and his head tilted and the thumbs hooked in his front pockets and the twitch of his lips, everything about him asks _what makes you think it's a good idea to pretend you don't want me?_ and for a moment Mizutani finds himself at a loss for an answer.

Then Izumi walks right between Hamada's legs, and Mizutani remembers that the question was never intended for him anyway.

"Tell me then, senpai. How can I finally get you to acknowledge me properly?" That's _still_ not taking it seriously, but under the sarcasm his voice is warm and suggestive.

"I don't know," Hamada says, still smiling wide even as Izumi wraps a hand in his hair, makes him tilt his head up. "How about you show me what you've got?"

It's nothing like every tentative first kiss Mizutani's taken part in. He's never been sure whether anything actually happened between them back then, but even if it did, that can't account for the ease with which they lean into each other, Izumi holding himself up against the wall as Hamada grabs the back of his thighs as though he's always known he was entitled to.

The amount of build-up there must have been to get to this is even larger than Mizutani had assumed. There's so much of it, in fact, that a minute later the room has filled with soft wet sounds and he's starting to wonder if they've forgotten they have an audience.

His job here is done, and done well. Everything else is up to them.

He's reaching for his jacket when Izumi says something, in the middle of the face-sucking. Something that sounds suspiciously like "where do you think you're going?"

"Dorm," Mizutani answers, dumbstruck. Did he hear wrong? He must have heard wrong.

They pull apart, with some difficulty. Hamada whispers a couple of words, and then Izumi turns to him.

"I don't think so," he says, both eyebrows raised. "You're staying right here."

"What? Why? I don't-- I'm not some kind of voyeur!"

"Three things." Izumi doesn't seem bothered by the way Hamada's hands are sliding up his shirt, uncovering skin. "One, if this is really going to help me solve my deep-seated intimacy issue, someone qualified should watch that I'm taking it from the right angle." Hamada seems to change his mind, going blindly for the belt instead. "Positioning myself properly on this large issue, as it were." Mizutani swallows nervously, but doesn't answer. Hamada's made short work of the buckle and is attacking the pants now, and Izumi is going to be naked by the time this conversation is over and he _doesn't seem to notice_. "Two, if you're going to make it your business who I fuck, you should really find out first hand what that entails." Belt and zipper undone now, and Hamada's fingers are lingering around that area, just petting white skin. "And three..."

He stops there. After a few seconds, Mizutani drags his eyes back up, and finds him smirking. "Three," Izumi repeats, "I'm pretty sure you're voyeur enough."

Mizutani opens his mouth to dispute that, but all that comes out is the gasp that should have been Izumi's when Hamada's hand slides _right in_. The smirk sticks. "It's up to you. One way or another, we're going back together."

He breathes in sharply, closes his eyes, and if Mizutani doesn't get out right now he's going to be stuck here forever watching two of his friends having what seems to be turning fast into steamy gay sex.

On the other hand, backing down now would ruin all his hard work. Plus, they both seem to be rather into it already, and didn't he promise himself, the day he offered to room together and Izumi told him why he might want to rethink it, that he'd be a supportive friend and would never stand in the way?

Anyway, he's heard it often enough. How much worse can it be to see?

"I'll assume you're staying, then."

He could still say no, _should_ still say no, but what happens is that his legs decide it's a good idea to make him sit back on the futon and spread to accommodate the other part of him that's getting ideas, and in the middle of that the word never comes out, not even when Hamada seems to manage to take off both their shirts in one move before he gets up and whirls them around, pinning Izumi hard against the wall.

It's weird. A couple of slaps and a patient girlfriend have taught Mizutani the differences between porn and real sex, mainly _everything_. So on the few occasions when he accidentally landed on Izumi's search history rather than his own on their shared computer, he knew better than to take any more from the pictures than basic knowledge about the possible combinations of tab A and slot B (though not always _that_ basic, like in that thing with the foreskin. He'd never have imagined that tab A and slot B could be the _same thing_).

If he'd ever thought about how this went, he would have expected... something else. Not necessarily roses and candlelight, but not the raw grabbing that's taking place here, harsh kisses and Hamada's hand lost between their bodies and Izumi's nails dragging red trails down his back. Not this easily, not when there's that much history between them.

He'd thought it would be awkward, and it's everything but that. Even if he closed his eyes, even if he tried to focus on something else, there's no evading the sounds, the sighs and moans and grunts, twirling together until he can't tell what's coming from whom but it's not like anyone cares, when they're so into it and he...

It's not his thing. Mizutani isn't into watching, even less watching his friends, and least of all his _guy_ friends. But his body is obviously not on with the program. Not his eyes that are glued on them, not the thumb that's rubbing up and down his fly, making a hard-on come to life slowly but surely.

He's watching so closely, he can see Hamada trying to pull away once, twice, three times. Every time Izumi kisses him harder, digs fingers into his skin, melds their bodies back together. It seems to take infinite effort for Hamada to pull away from the kiss and duck his head to whisper a secret, but finally Izumi lets his hands fall down against his sides, releasing him. Hamada's hand slides against Izumi's belt as he turn away and heads to the bathroom.

Izumi plasters himself against the wall, disheveled and dazed, as though he couldn't stand up straight if he tried; watches Hamada go with an intensity that would be embarrassing in any other circumstances.

Then Hamada opens the bathroom door and Izumi closes his eyes, shakes his head once, and pushes himself off the wall to make his way to the futon. He slides down with fascinating fluidity, kneels in the middle of the mattress in a perfect seiza, and that's not even what Mizutani is paying attention to, not really. All he really sees is the crinkles at the corner of Izumi's eyes, the satisfied curve of his lips, the way every part of him is poised in quiet expectation. No fear, not even a hint of anxiety.

He's just waiting, and it's not hard to tell what for when his smile widens the slightest bit when Hamada comes back from the bathroom, dangling a small bottle between his fingers. He walks up to the edge of the futon, stands right in front of Izumi.

The bottle makes a dull sounds when it hits the mattress, dragging Mizutani's eyes there on instinct. Lubricant, and a square foil wrapper fluttering on top of it, of course, what else could it have been?

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Izumi asks, demure but for the slight smirk. It's a challenge, of course. Everything he ever says to Hamada is a challenge, for as long as Mizutani's known them.

It wasn't that long ago, all things considered, that Hamada started fighting back instead of letting himself be bullied. "Whatever you feel like."

A strand of hair falls across Izumi's face when he shakes his head. "You're not being very helpful, you know." He tilts his head to the side as if in contemplation, then leans forward to slide both hands up Hamada's legs. "I suppose I _could_ give you the blowjob of a lifetime." Mizutani hears himself whimper like he's the one with the lips almost but not quite plastered against his erection. "But on the other hand..." His fingers hook into the waistband of Hamada's jeans and tug lightly, nothing more than a hint of intention. "I don't want to wait that much longer for you to fuck me."

The words are clear and articulate and obscenely loud, making Mizutani's eyes widen. Even Hamada, for all that he's trying to keep up, doesn't seem to have anything more to answer to that than a loud gulp when his underwear gets pulled down.

Mizutani's seen a team sports player's share of naked dudes over the year, but this might be the first time he sees another guy's hard-on for real. It's not something he should be looking at, a desperate part of him tries to signal. He has no interest, and it's rude, and it's Not Done. But even knowing that, he's not so much looking as he's staring, taking in every feature, making comparisons in the back of his mind.

All of them get derailed, though, when Izumi leans down to lick a trail from base to head, using just the tip of his tongue. Hamada jerks.

So does Mizutani, his thumb following Izumi's path, making it seem just the slightest bit like he's the one being touched.

Being licked.

Then Izumi leans back, after just that, and opens the condom with sure fingers. He takes the wrapper apart almost delicately, looks up to Hamada just long enough to make eye contact, and puts the condom between his lips.

Mizutani feels himself shiver, and he can bet Hamada is sharing the feeling, too, as Izumi bends back down and unrolls the condom on him with his mouth.

The pressure of Mizutani's hand increases perceptibly. His foot slips, slides down on cotton until his toes bump against Izumi's bare ankle. It's warm, solid, and it doesn't seem to cause a problem or even a reaction so he doesn't move it away, no matter how aware he is of the contact between their skin, and how little of it he's getting as compared to Hamada, whose cock is getting swallowed again and again, quick and ruthless as though Izumi can't get enough of it.

Mizutani's eyes are fixated on the thin sheet of saliva on the condom and he's so hard it hurts, and how is he supposed to take care of this without being seen, how is he supposed to get off on the show they're putting on and then deal with the fact that he did?

Izumi pulls back, eventually, sits back on his heels and looks up at Hamada. The moment of silence, of stillness, makes Mizutani look up to try and see what's passing between them.

He finds Hamada looking back, with an unreadable expression on his face. Mizutani turns his head, feeling himself blush, and on the way down his gaze hooks with Izumi's. Who's looking at him too, up and down, deliberately, taking in everything: his wide staring eyes, his lips parted on a silent gasp, his hand stroking his cock through his pants, and the leg still extended, still touching him.

He retreats then, biting his lip in embarrassment, but even with that he's still a deer in the proverbial headlights, terrified of the hundred thousand ways Izumi could break him right now.

But he doesn't. Says nothing, just gets on all fours and crawls up the futon, straddling Mizutani's leg, never breaking the eye contact, and Mizutani can't, either, not until Izumi's shoulder bumps against his chest and his hand lands between Mizutani's thighs, so close yet nowhere near close enough.

"This isn't what you signed up for," Izumi breathes, just loud enough for Mizutani to hear it. "You don't have to--"

"No," Mizutani hears himself say. "I don't, I know," and he doesn't have a single idea what any of the drivel that comes out of his mouth is supposed to mean, but that seems to work out fine because Izumi's hand nudges his own aside, warm and heavy and god but he's sure no handjob he got in his life has ever been this hot and this one's only lasted half a second so far.

And then a second, and two, and ten, and it doesn't stop, his best friend and roommate is palming his cock, tracing the lines of it through his pants with sure fingers, not even actually touching him but still making him whimper for more at the back of his throat as his head rolls back to let him stare wide-eyed at the ceiling.

A part of him is vaguely aware that Hamada's moving, that clothes are sliding off, but really all that matters is the hand rubbing against him, the strands of soft hair gliding against his neck.

Izumi jerks against him with a wordless scream, forcing Mizutani's attention back to him. What--

He's barely registered what just happened that Izumi gasps in pain again, and his eyes are wide and his mouth is open and the hand he's thrown against the wall to support himself is shaking, his whole _arm_ is shaking and what the fuck is Hamada doing?

"You're hurting him!" Mizutani yells, wrapping a protective arm around Izumi's waist on instinct. "Stop it!" Shit, this is his fault, he should have... done something, anything, should have made sure--

"Don't you dare," Izumi snaps, as commanding as ever, even when the sentence dies into a pained "fuck!" against Mizutani's shoulder.

"But..." No, no, no. This is all wrong. Even in the name of closure, this shouldn't be happening.

But Izumi squeezes his knee, just once, and he's whispering in Mizutani's ear and the sentence only registers after a second.

_I don't break._

It's not the words that get to him, it's the tone. The warmth of it, the reassurance.

How he's not asking for help.

"You like it," Mizutani exhales. "Like this, you..." and Hamada thrusts in again and Izumi's body jerks against him, under his hand, forehead nesting in the crook of his neck as he hisses a yes.

"Of course you do," Hamada adds, with something in his voice that isn't unlike fondness, not unlike every time he's shared a memory about his middle school kouhai. "But I bet you'd like it even more if we were both fucking you." Izumi gasps against Mizutani's skin with the next thrust. "Wouldn't you?" Hamada's gone still, holding on to Izumi's hips, waiting for an answer and Mizutani thinks, just looking at him, that he's prepared to wait forever, even when Izumi's annoyed sounds turn frustrated and he tries pushing back.

"Wouldn't you?" Hamada repeats. Mizutani finds himself waiting for the answer, too.

"Yes," Izumi says, and it ends in a grunt because Hamada's pulled out in one swift thrust. But he stays there, still again, and Izumi curses under his breath.

"Yes what? Say it," Hamada demands. Mizutani looks at him, and finds him staring back. They're still looking at each other when Izumi speaks again, sounding like he's straining against something.

"I want both of you inside me. I want you to hold me down and fuck me deep. I... dammit, Hamada!"

He complies but he's still looking at Mizutani, eyebrows raised as if to ask _how about it?_

Mizutani has to grab the blanket to keep his hand from shaking, but only for a moment before he reaches up, unsure what he's doing but certain that he wants to be doing it.

"Can you take it?" Hamada teases, grabbing Mizutani's hand, guiding it down. "You're pretty tight, right now."

Izumi shudders under his hands. "You'd have to stretch me up first," he groans, and Mizutani finally understands what he's being primed to do, why Hamada is guiding his fingers there, to brush against the slick latex of the condom. "Fast and rough, just enough to get me ready." He tries, then, follows the line of Hamada's cock with the tip of his finger and forces it in, feeling the pressure all around it. "Spread me out and-- oh yeah, like that."

Mizutani wants it too, he realizes. In four years and too many nights of being unable to fall asleep he's never actually thought about having sex with Izumi, and he has to wonder if that wild pitch in second year didn't give him brain damage because obviously he's craved it all this time, wanted to get his hands on Izumi like this for years, needed to hold him down and ride him just the way Hamada is right now, have him pliant and eager under him and draw a stream of words so filthy he's not entirely sure Izumi knows what he's saying.

He goes for more, forces another finger in and another, relishing every gasp and thrust and the slide of Hamada's dick against his knuckles.

"Or I could do it. Break myself open with one of those huge dildos while I suck your cocks in turn, make myself ready for you. Leave you nothing to do but lay me out and fuck me hard."

Famous last words, as it were; after that, the only sounds to come out of him are guttural groans and the occasional whimper, but Mizutani does his best despite the lack of verbal instructions, curling his fingers inside him and adjusting his knee to press harder on the hard-on grinding against his leg with each of Hamada's thrusts.

Izumi comes with a cry, his arm tightening around Mizutani's neck. Hamada follows after one last thrust, and for a second all three of them are still but for the shivers coursing through Izumi.

It's only a second. Hamada pulls away and lets himself fall to the side as Izumi loosens his death hold around Mizutani's neck to slide his hand down and inside his pants. The grip is loose and shaky but it still makes him hiss, after being deprived of any touch there for what feels like ever.

But it stays like that for long seconds, and Mizutani is just wondering whether Izumi's fallen asleep when he whispers "I need to lay down". The words are a disappointment; the voice sends a jolt to his already painful erection. But then he does just that: lays down, between Mizutani's legs, pulls his cock out and starts lapping at it with sloppy wet noises that are just the best. Thing. Ever.

He's lazy about it, none of the wild deep-throating that they both watch in only slightly different low-quality videos, but it doesn't make the twirls of his tongue any less effective. Mizutani adjusts, leans back, lets his head fall to the side and his hand clutch at Izumi's shoulder.

He means to be polite about it, but somehow that seems to fly right out of his mind when Izumi hoists himself up on an elbow and wraps his lips around the head of his cock and _sucks_, hard; Mizutani comes undone, seeing stars and every other cliché in the book, his fingers clenching so hard on Izumi's shoulder that he must be leaving bruises.

He must have let go, eventually, and possibly blacked out for a moment because after he blinks he finds himself laying down on the edge of the futon. Hamada is pressed against the wall, petting Izumi's side like one would an aloof cat who's gracing them with their presence.

"You're very comfortable with each other," Mizutani informs them eventually, when he feels he has control of his voice again. For some reason, it makes Hamada laugh.

"You could even say _intimate_," Izumi comments, and opens his eyes for the sole sake of giving Mizutani his I'm-waiting-for-you-to-get-it face, which one can, over time, learn to distinguish from its more frequent variation: you-are-an-irredeemable-moron.

The deeper meaning of that observation only hits Mizutani after he's done congratulating himself for his perceptiveness.

"Wait..."

Hamada is still laughing to himself. "You'll have to tell him sooner or later," he says from between Izumi's shoulderblades.

"Says you," Izumi retorts, rolling his eyes, but when he looks back at Mizutani his expression is more mischievous than angry, and the corners of his lips are twitching up. "You weren't wrong. I did have an issue with our unfinished 'thing'."

Mizutani has the time to triumph _I knew it!_ in his head before it's superseded by _but wait, then why... _

"Two years ago."

He blinks.

"Which is also when I reached the same conclusion you did earlier."

"He ambushed me in the shower," Hamada mourns aloud.

"And you were so unhappy about it, too. All that moaning you did." It sounds like a well-rehearsed argument. And forces Mizutani to consider, with a hint of hysteria, the theory that maybe their bickering is due less to unresolved sexual tension and more to being an _old married couple_. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before anything comes out.

"But, but then, why... how...?"

Izumi stretches, exposing himself to Hamada's hands a little more. "A verb would help? Maybe a noun?" he says, albeit not unkindly.

The difference between this guy and the one who was on all fours begging to be double-fucked ten minutes ago is a little overwhelming. "Flings," Mizutani manages to spit out. "And you said his name!"

"That was when I did that thing with my tongue, right?"

Mizutani saw Izumi grow impervious to embarrassment as their high school years passed; by the time they got to university, he was pretty sure that nothing could make him blush anymore. But today everything he knows about his best friend is wrong, because Izumi does, just then, even as a two-tone hum escapes his throat.

Possibly Hamada understands what that means. Mizutani certainly doesn't, and that's not even the worst part of this conversation. "You were _there_?" he demands, horrified. It's one thing to hear his roommate have sex with whatever guy he's picked up wherever it is one picks guys up, but to have it be one of his friends and not know about it?

For being the only one here who's still wearing his clothes, he feels unpleasantly exposed all of a sudden.

"I thought it was something you're rather not know," Izumi says, and it sounds maybe a little like an apology, which doesn't help with the knot twisting in Mizutani's stomach. "Anyway, we're not..." he hesitates. "It's only sometimes. It's easier not to let people know than to correct their assumptions."

That doesn't really help either.

"But you were... you let me think that..." he wishes he could be articulate, explain all the stupid feelings that are welling up, but all he can do is wave a hand at the three of them, Izumi leaning back against Hamada and him laying just far away from them that it's like a wall and he was trying to help, damn them, the only reason he did this in the first place is that he thought, he thought...

"Why?" is the first word that comes out. "If you already knew I was wrong, why did you" _invite me in_ "make me stay?" Because the only explanation that comes up is that Izumi did it just to show that he could.

He has to cling to the hope that the guy he once asked to be his roommate is a better person than that. It would suck, wouldn't it, if he's ended up learning first hand why Izumi's one-night-stands all try to come back for seconds and it was all for some sick game. Pretend you're letting yourself be convinced into having sex, ten points. Have threesome, fifty points. Nail a straight guy, a hundred points. Reveal yourself as an asshole to someone who thought they knew you in and out, five hundreds to a thousand depending on how shattered they are.

In the silence that ensues, he dimly notices the roving hand falling away from Izumi's hip, which is kind of a good thing because he was beginning to consider chopping it off for being too distracting.

"Honestly? I thought it would make you back off. You have no business poking at my hang-ups like that."

That's... not entirely wrong, which makes Mizutani feel even worse. "It looks like you don't have any, anyway," he mumbles resentfully.

Izumi tucks a strand of wayward hair behind his ear and looks straight at Mizutani, eyes so intense and unreadable that he feels himself becoming nervous, on top of everything else. It feels like Izumi is searching him for something, and it lasts several times forever until finally his friend shakes his head. "I don't think that's true either."

"Finally," Hamada pipes up.

"You know, I really could do without your running commentary," Izumi snaps, poking him with an elbow.

"It's no problem at all. Remind me, did we bet money on this?"

And just like that, Mizutani is out of the conversation. Whatever they're talking about, it looks like another long-standing argument, another thing he isn't a part of, and it stings to realize that Hamada knows and understand his best friend better than he does. It shouldn't be a surprise, of course, they've known each other since grade school, long before they knew he existed. It shouldn't make him feel hollow and rejected.

"What is it, then?" he snaps after a minute of banter.

Izumi stops mid-sentence to look back at him. Once again, it lasts just a little too long. "You should figure that out for yourself. It's good training for you," he says eventually, with an annoying half-smirk that Mizutani wants to wipe off his face in any way he can. "But I'll tell you what, since you went through all this trouble to help me. Until you do, I'll stop bringing guys back to the dorm."

It sounds good, certainly better for Mizutani's nights, but his instinct tells him there's a catch there he's not seeing. "Are you going to start bringing back girls? Because..."

Hamada actually snorts out loud.

"You know that would mean that getting you in bed turned me straight, right? However you see it, it's not flattering."

Mizutani grimaces at the thought. It's unflattering indeed, and makes him wonder if he was even adequate. But he doesn't get the nerve for that, or the time.

"Anyway, while you're here. How do you feel about helping me out with that other thing I was talking about earlier?"

Mizutani has the time to wonder why he's being so cryptic before the words flood through him. _I want both of you inside me_ is what he was saying earlier, and the smile has turned suggestive, expectant.

"I don't think I can move," he stutters, the only truthful thing that can come out of his mouth as his brain scrambles for the solid ground his dick has already found.

"I can work around that," Izumi promises, and pokes his hip with a single finger, making him roll over to land flat on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for what happened after, [Fujiwara no Seimei](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fujiwara_no_Seimei/pseuds/Fujiwara_no_Seimei) has provided a helpful and [extremely NSFW graphic representation](http://www.yourfilehost.com/media.php?cat=image&file=hamaizumizu.jpg). &gt;D  
> 
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> * * *
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> Part 2 contains the DVD commentary!


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